Ratchet and Clank: Legacy
by Red Mage 04
Summary: After the ordeals with Emperor Tachyon and saving the Great Clock from Doctor Nefarious, all Ratchet wanted to do was settle down and maybe get to know an old friend better. However, fate would not be so kind, as the activation of an ancient artifact brings visitors to his universe, and with them, their war.
1. Prologue Part One

Hello everyone. Red Mage 04 here, though some know me better as Aratech. To those more familiar with my other works, such as Finishing the Fight, this is one of the other projects that I mentioned that I was working on for one of my friends. I owed them a favor, they called it due, which these days means "write me a story."

I'll admit I am… hesitant to post this one. Up until recently, I haven't paid much attention to the R&C universe. Played the first game or two back in the day, but that was about it. I've managed to bring myself up to speed on it, I hope, but I'm still extremely nervous. First, because this is a crossover story that has more in common with Finishing the Fight than I'm entirely comfortable with, and I can only hope that I've put enough effort into making this story different that it stands out. The second is that the other crossover element comes courtesy of an original universe that I've been working on for the past few years. I'm not sure how compatible it is with R&C, and I am seized by my paranoia that my OCs are all going to turn out to be Mary/Gary-Sues. Only one way to find out, I suppose.

The other major point is that there are going to be some AU/Semi-AU elements present in this story. Nothing _too_ major, I hope, but there are going to be some aspects that differ from the primary canon of the R&C universe. I should also point out that this story takes place just after A Crack In Time.

Lastly, a great big thanks to Swordsman289, BoondockJake, and my dear friend Atlan from Spacebattles, who have all helped me with ideas, suggestions, proofreading, and helping me to ensure that the characters remain in character. Thanks a bunch guys, I owe you.

That said, here's the two prologue bits for this story. Hope they're not a complete train wreck.

* * *

**Ratchet and Clank: Legacy**

* * *

**Prologue Part One: Boredom, Dust, and Lamentations **

The small robot looked about as he entered the main living chambers of the apartment. His audio receptors had picked up a noise that he was by now quite familiar with: the whirring of power tools and wrenches as his apartment-mate fiddled with yet another engineering project. If Clank's mouth was capable of frowning, he would have made the expression at that moment. As it was, he was forced to merely cross his arms as he made his way over towards where Ratchet sat; what had once been a living room table was now covered in grease and other fluids.

"I do hope you're planning on scrubbing out the carpet," he muttered softly.

He got no response. His eyes narrowed a bit and he cleared his throat. "You remember what happened the last time? I don't think either of us wants to go to the expense of having to get the floor deep-cleaned."

He heard his companion grunt for a moment, but it soon became apparent that Ratchet was less responding to Clank's concerns, more struggling with a particularly stubborn element of whatever it was he was working on. A moment later, the smell of solder filled the room and a few sparks leaped up from the device. "I'm fairly certain that is a class three fire hazard…"

There was another moment of silence, and then Ratchet peeked up over the top of his contraption and for the first time Clank noticed a pair of blast goggles pulled down over his eyes. "I know. I've got an extinguisher a half meter away from me in case I need it."

"That is not really the point," Clank said, hopping up into a nearby chair to get a better look at his much larger friend. "Rather, my concern is that you are currently engaged in yet another attempt to build a…" he trailed off for a moment, cocking his head to the side as he tried to determine what it was.

"It's a new thrust vectoring system for my hoverbike. Tighter turns, more maneuverability," he growled, wiping the soldering tool on a sponge before putting it back in its holder.

"Another engineering project. This is the twenty-sixth one that you've attempted since we got back from the Clock. That was less than a two months ago." The diminutive robot crossed his arms over his chest again. "Do you see my concerns?"

"Not really, no." There was the whirring of a hydrospanner as Ratchet went back to work. Clank sighed and cradled his head against his palm.

Clank shook his head for a moment and then looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "This is not a healthy way to deal with whatever feelings you might be wrestling with. Or boredom, for that matter… given that this is hardly a sound environment to be doing heavy engineering in."

"Feelings I'm wrestling with…" Ratchet muttered softly, before putting his tools down. He sighed and shook his head. "And what feelings do you think I'm dealing with?" the question had a tone to it, and Clank narrowed one of his eyes. Was it rhetorical? Sarcastic? He decided to go with the straightforward approach and simply respond.

"Alister's… obsession, his attempts to kill you, his demise… finding out that you're the next to the last of your kind in this plane of existence. It is… a lot for someone to take in, and I worry that you still have not fully come to terms with it all." The small droid clambered up onto the tabletop, walking around the thruster system so that he could look at Ratchet directly.

"Your ability to read me is disturbing sometimes," the Lombax shook his head as he went back to work, squinting behind his goggles.

"We have known each other for seven years, Ratchet… I would not be much of a friend if I had not figured out how to read you by now. Please… can we… can we talk about this?"

"What's there to talk about?" Ratchet put his spanner down, and the suddenly slumped into his chair, cradling his hands in his head. He remained silent for a moment, and then let out a weary sigh. "Sometimes… sometimes I just wish that things were back to the way they were before. Before Drek, before Qwark, Nefarious, and every other half-witted villain with ambitions of galactic domination waltzed into the picture. When I was just a mechanic back on Veldin."

"To long for the 'good old days' is not uncommon among people, Ratchet," Clank said, a bit of warmth creeping into his voice modulator as he walked up to his friend and placed a three-fingered hand on the Lombax's shoulder. "Fate, destiny, or chance, whatever it is; you have been dealt a most unusual hand… but you cannot change what has happened. You are _more_ than just a mechanic now, for better or for worse." He paused for a moment. "But despite the obligations that have been placed on you, that doesn't mean that you have to keep problems bottled up inside of you, or that you cannot take a break from it all when it does get to be too much for you." The small robot chuckled for a moment. "After all, you are not much use to the universe if you're in a padded room, bouncing off the walls."

Ratchet reached up and pulled off his blast goggles, shaking his head slowly. "No… suppose you're right. Besides, I doubt Nefarious would appreciate me intruding on his domain."

The two friends shared a laugh at that, and Clank grinned inwardly. It felt good to hear Ratchet laugh, relax, and just be more… normal. He shook his head again as he leaned against the thruster system. "Oh, which reminds me… have you… communicated with Angela again?"

Ratchet nodded his head slowly, frowning for a split second. The other Lombax had begun slowly reestablishing contact with the duo over the past few months, having been in hiding during the Cragmite incursion. "Yeah… her new project hasn't been going very fast lately. Said they finally got through that door, got a small probe in, but not much seems to be inside."

"Oh dear… well, I'm sure Megacorp will find something worthwhile, they are resourceful, after all. You should probably call her again soon; see what the latest development is."

Ratchet cocked an eyebrow, his large ears twitching a bit. "You're not just saying that because you want to get a sneak peek at whatever xenotech or historical artifacts might be locked away inside those ruins, right?"

"Oh, do perish the thought," Clank responded, quickly shaking his head and waiving a hand nonchalantly, but his tone suggested that if he were capable of it, he would be grinning impishly.

Ratchet rolled his eyes and looked down at his timepiece. "Okay, tell you what, she normally gets off shift in about an hour… I'll give her a call then, okay?" Inwardly, he had to admit, he was a bit curious himself. Wasn't everyday you finally got to bore your way into what might be some long lost civilization's tomb.

* * *

At that moment, the other remaining Lombax in the universe, one Doctor Angela Cross, was having her own problems. She ripped the filtration helmet off her head as she stormed into her pre-fab "home" on the dig site. Her azure eyes narrowed as she moved over towards a large vid-screen, slamming the helmet down and trying in vain to comb some of the dust and dirt out of her ponytail. She punched in a few numbers and glared as the screen flared to life. She found herself looking at a dark skinned, humanoid alien, much larger than her, gazing up from a computer screen. On his desk a holographic tab read: Randolph Barti, Head of Exploration and Experimental Research.

"Hello, Ms. Cross, I've been expecting a call from the team for some time now." He said as he laced his fingers together. "What can I do—"

"Cut the bull, Randolph," she hissed, leaning in close to the screen, her fingers clenching and unclenching as she flexed her arms, as though she wished to wrap them around something and squeeze. "Six months, six freaking _months_, you've had us out here in this wasteland, with nothing to show for it, and now that we've finally, _finally, _managed to cut through those doors you're pulling the plug?"

"This project has had six months to start turning a profit, Ms. Cross." Barti said quietly a calm, suave smile appearing on his face. "We allowed this to go forward because your supervisor promised us results. Xenotech, historical artifacts, something to put Megacorp back on the map in Sector Twenty-Three. It is simply… not working out." His grin grew wider, and Angela knew that if she'd been standing in front of him, she'd have been hard pressed not to take his head and slam it into his desk. The write-up might actually be worth wiping that insufferable smirk off his face. "I cannot help but notice that Mr. Arden did not contact me himself. Hasn't the courage to admit his failure to me, so he gets an underling to do it?"

The female Lombax's gaze further narrowed, and her eyes seemed to burn. "That's got nothing to do with this… I decided to contact you myself."

"Then I'll give you the same message I sent to him, my dear. Megacorp is just what the name says: a business. If businesses do not make profits, credits or otherwise, they die. The Protopet disaster hurt us badly and Gagetron's increasing influence is already making the Board uncomfortable, to say nothing of Zeo Matrix and Emeraud. The assets going into your project might be better spent elsewhere. Such as, I don't know," he tapped a large finger against his mouth, "getting those prototype Class-VI combat drones up and running. We impress the Galactic Federation in Solana enough and they'll give us that contract to begin replacing their Ranger forces."

"But…"

"But nothing, Ms. Cross. You've had your chance. It did not pan out. You've got two days to wrap up what you're doing, pack your bags, and report back to headquarters." Barti's white eyes narrowed, and he leaned in closer to the vid-screen. "Do I make myself clear?"

Angela balled up a fist, her gaze matching the corporate officer's. Neither backed down for several seconds, before Angela growled out, "Perfectly." She'd concede this battle, save herself for one that she could win. Two days, right? Not much time, but perhaps enough time to find something, go above Barti's head, get Fizzwidget himself to approve them staying out here.

"Good. See you in a week, then, Ms. Cross." That smug grin returned and Barti closed the link.

Angela took a deep breath, and then another, and then a third, and pivoted about on her heel. She stomped back over towards where her filtration mask was, and set about reattaching it, before pulling up the hood of her cloak, tightening it around the mask. Between the two of them and the electromesh body suit that she was wearing, she'd be protected from Argus IV's elements. She entered the airlock, and then opened the outer hatch.

The perpetual sunlight of this section of the planet was bright, even though the tinted goggles of the filtration mask. The desert wastes weren't the only feature of this tidally-locked planet, she knew, and found herself longing momentarily for the eternal twilight of the planet's termination zones, where the bulk of its cities—and about ninety-nine percent of the population—were located. Seeing the sky awash in a permanent purple, indigo, and orange, interrupted only by the skyscrapers… it was a sight that never failed to take her breath away.

Her current location stood in stark contrast to those regions. The warm glow of sunset replaced by a hateful little fusion ball that never moved, glaring down at any interlopers like the gaze of an irate god. It could get blisteringly hot out here if one wasn't careful, and it was very easy to lose track of time with the planet's sun always hanging in the same location. She supposed that might have been why these ruins had been left undisturbed for so long.

Well… that and whoever had built them had built them to last. The Lombax glanced over at the massive Megacorp "Earth-Cracker" mining drill that was in the center of the camp. Four stories tall, and powered its own fusion generator, the laser drill could maintain a consistent terawatt level output for weeks on end. This particular model earned its nickname from being able to rapidly bore down into a planet's crust and mantle to get at valuable mineral deposits. In this case, it had taken six months to bore a hole through the primary doors large enough to send a probe droid through.

That alone should have been enough to justify them being out here, Angela thought as she balled up a fist once again. The materials science advancements that could potentially represent, the things that a corporation could do with that kind of technology… but then, as Barti had pointed out, they already had _those_ samples, and the materials science division was trying to make heads or tails of the mysterious metals that the doors were composed of.

She kicked up a plume of sand in front of her, shaking her head again. It didn't make any sense. There should have been something behind there. Xenotech, perhaps a data cache of valuable, previously unknown science and engineering discoveries, maybe some preserved corpses that she could use her genetics and biology expertise on. Nothing. Nothing but a series of dead ends and a massive hollow chamber large enough to cram a squad of starfighters into. Why? Why go to such lengths to protect something, and then not have anything inside? It was like a riddle, the answer tantalizingly close, but just out of reach. And now the funding was being cut and the project scrapped. The young woman sighed, and slumped against one of the pre-fab structures around her.

She needed a distraction, something to cheer her up. Ratchet, maybe? He was good for that sort of thing. She supposed. She started to walk towards the center of the camp. A moment later she was on her face, her toes throbbing from where they'd found a stray bit of rock.

"Ow…" she muttered. She looked about to see if anyone had seen her trip. For the moment, she was by herself and she let out a sigh of relief. Angela lay where she was for a moment, letting her suit absorb and dissipate the heat of the sand and dust, thinking about her life. Sure, she'd give Ratchet a call. What could it hurt? She needed a friendly face to talk to right now.

What neither she, Ratchet, nor anyone else knew was that life in the Bogon galaxy was about to get turned upside down by the introduction of some new, very unstable factors.


	2. Prologue Part Two

**Prologue Part Two: Something Wicked This Way Comes**

The bright blue lights would have been painful to look at, were they not filtered by the holoscreen in front of Lear's face. As it was, they were just one more color in a dazzling array of overlapping readouts, information streams, and sensor feedbacks. A myriad of audio calls echoed inside of his helmet. His four eyes zipped over the data, processing, filtering, and screening it directly into the circuits and nerves of his brain. Weapon discharges detected ahead, forward scouting squad previously engaged with Neratin Tribunal and Shartan Dominion forces taken out, artifact unsecured, naval battle up above still contested and anyone's game. A sudden series of rumbling quakes shook the entire facility. He frowned behind his helmet. Likely one of the countless armies fighting topside had just lost its theater shielding and had the rotten luck to have a hostile ship in orbit above it. Those felt like Mobian Star Empire point defense guns. At least, he hoped those were MSE point defense guns…

He almost gave into the instinctive temptation to shake his head. Time to move. He opened up a channel to Tyrie and Mota, directing what was left of their squads to back him up as he moved up and around the corner of the Alkathar ruins and found himself wishing they hadn't lost the Phalanxes in the earlier firefights (or the rest of D-Company, for that matter). The massive combat droids would have been useful in this place and the hellish firepower of their MPAC-4s welcome. More specialists like himself or Rotaran shock-infantry would have also been welcomed, but no sense wishing for what he didn't have. He rounded the corner and confirmed what his sensors and remote feeds had told him. Time seemed to slow almost to a stop as his combat subroutines and mental powers kicked into overdrive. The massive doors in front of him had been jammed open, and a vicious small-scale battle was being waged within. Missiles, KKVs, lasers, and other, more exotic weapons fire streaked back and forth in a room the size of a sports arena.

"Alpha and Beta squads, move in, engage, terminate hostiles with extreme prejudice," he vocalized, using his armor's targeting systems to highlight the priority targets and relay them to the others: a massive Quaten Guardian and a trio of Shartan "Reapers". He adjusted the systems in his armor, diverting power away from his cloaking system and reinforcing his shields as he moved in, his pulse rifle shouldered. It was always just a little unsettling operating like this, watching his own body moving like it was moving through thick mud, and others as though they were in some sort of stop-frame animation.

He sighted up the nearest Reaper and pulled the trigger. The acceleration rails inside of his rifle engaged and spat out a hypersonic KKV. A trail of blue ionized air billowed out around the barrel of his weapon, a deafening double-shockwave filling the room as he announced his presence. Traveling at over five thousand meters per second, the slug struck its target and hit the Shartan soldier center-mass. The bipedal insectiod creature let out a screech as it staggered to the side, its shields blocking most of the strike. The Reaper's shoulder-appendages oriented towards the new threat in the time it took a normal person to blink and the pulse laser cannons mounted on them whined to life as the Imperial soldier continued to fire at it.

Lear engaged his teleportation system, appearing a hundred meters away behind some deployed tactical shielding. The remains of one of the earlier Imperial squads lay around him in a pool of gore and shattered power armor. The Reaper hissed and dove to the side instinctively as it ate heavy laser fire from the Tribunal forces at the far end of the room. The highly ornate, red armor that the Tribunal forces wore made them easy to spot against the dull black-and-gray metal of the ruins, and it was clear that they'd taken some losses as well. The Reaper turned all four of its weapons upon the Tribunal infantryman that had dared to shoot at it. Pulse lasers streaked across the room, liquefying and boiling away the warrior's power armor, while a high-pitched shrieking noise filled the air as its shuriken cannons were unleashed. The Tribunal warrior let out a gurgling scream, cut off a split second later as hundreds of mono-bladed flechettes ripped into him. Then he seemed to just… fall apart, his entire body reduced to bloody confetti. The relevant targeting data disappeared from the myriad of Lear's HUDs.

The roar of jetpacks echoed back and forth as Tyrie and Mota's squads jumped in, using the thrusters on the back of their power armor to quickly move behind the deployed cover. Mota provided additional covering fire as he unleashed the fury of the Squad Level Automatic Gun that he carried, sending a hail of KKVs streaming at both of the opposing sides. The tail member of Tyrie's squad was too slow and took a pair of krak missiles fired from the Guardian's shoulder weapon mount. His shields held for a millisecond before the blasts overwhelmed them and reduced the trooper to free-floating ash and steam. Lear activated the underslung grenade launcher on his pulse rifle as the unfortunate soldier's call sign disappeared from the battle-net. He sighted up the same Reaper he'd hit a couple of seconds ago. He squeezed the trigger and in slow motion watched the weapon spit out four rounds, their distinctive _"bang-whoosh" _filling the air as the rocket motors engaged and homed in on the target. The monstrosity never even had time to turn to face the new threat before the plasma RPGs impacted; the first two direct-blast warheads knocking out its already heavily damaged shields before the second pair blew it apart.

As it died, Lear got his first good look at the cause of this entire battle: the artifact. Perfectly spherical, not a blemish on its glowing surface, it radiated a baleful, off-purple light that seemed to pulse softly. It was on a pedestal about a meter and a half off the ground, surrounded by a series of teeth-like ridges. In the back of his mind, a subroutine distantly wondered what it might have been for; if any of the powers fighting for control of it knew what it was. Probably not, but orders were orders: secure it for the Empire, or if all else failed, prevent hostile powers from acquiring it. He ducked out from behind the energy shield deployed in front of him, sighting up the second Reaper as Mota's squad unleashed their weapons on it, a hail of KKVs, grenades and thermal projector fire filling the air. The Reaper's shields flared to life and it jumped, flipping about in the air and magnetically securing itself to the wall of the room. The Imperial squad tracked it easily, their assault never ceasing, even as its pulse lasers snuffed out the lives of two of the squad, and vaporized the arm of a third. The soldier collapsed, letting out a scream before a myriad of nanites and medical drugs flooded her system, dulling the pain. They never had time to get any further, as a trio of follow up shots finished her off.

Lear reached out with his mind, a sheen of sweat forming on his organic parts as he focused, and with a burst of will, ripped the Reaper off its perch. It let out a squawk and he could sense its surprise before a hail of mass-reactive grenades blew it up.

Only one left, but the damage had already been done. The Tribunal unit saw the distraction of some of the Imperial forces and decided to capitalize on it. Lear's onboard computers screamed warnings as he turned to see them orienting several missile-launchers towards them, while the Guardian opened fire with its wrist mounted plasma cannons. He shouted warnings, and engaged his teleportation systems, the gravity plates on his boots anchoring him to the ceiling of the room as and giving him a perfect view of the scene. Dozens of plasma bursts seemed to crawl through the air before ripping apart the shielding protecting Mota's squadron. Lear oriented his pulse rifle on the Tribunal heavy weapons team, flipping the firing selector to full auto and maximum power. The kinetic-kill vehicles of the railgun tore two of the operators apart before they even had time to realize the new threat vector, but the last one got his missile off. The Imperial squad tried to move, fly, and run out of the way, but there was no time. The heavy anti-tank warhead went off. Those that weren't incinerated by the blue-hot plasma ball were pulverized by the massive concussion wave of the blast. The Tribunal warrior let out a whoop of triumph, silenced mid-way through when a KKV tore down into his head and shredded his body. The Guardian looked up at Lear then, turning her weapons upon him and letting out a deafening roar of hatred. She barked orders to her surviving forces and unleashed everything she had at the MSE specialist.

Lear rushed along the roof of the ruins, watching as the third Reaper suddenly reappeared among Tyrie's squad. Two soldiers died instantly as the multi-armed horror's close-combat energy blades sliced into them, a dozen impacts in less than a second. Their shields broke, and it decapitated them even as dozens of KKVs, grenades, and a couple blasts from an LRAI laser rifle battered its own shields. A few rounds ripped into it as its shielding collapsed, blowing chunks out of its armor and body that were large enough for Lear to have comfortably stuck his helmeted head in, and the momentum from the pulse rifles actually picked it up and hurled it through the air. Still it fought on, its wrist-mounted pulse lasers tearing into two more soldiers and cutting them down. Tyrie hosed it with weapons fire, driving it back further as it slammed its claws into the ground and tried to maintain its footing. It proved to be a useless gesture and the fury of the MSE squad's combined assault ripped the creature in half. It screeched once more and then activated a self-destruct mechanism. Lear didn't have to hear the screams or see the "Alpha Squad Destroyed" message flash across the bottom of his field of vision to know it was just him and the half dozen members of the Tribunal warrior-squad left to fight it out.

He teleported again, reappearing at the entrance of the large chamber, firing a double tap that took out one of the rank-and-file before they could reacquire him as a target. Take out the small fries first; reduce the number of weapons pointed at him. He could see another missile streak towards him, and he sent a mental command to his armor, suddenly increasing the power of his gravity plates in his boots, and then explosively reversing the polarity. This effectively catapulted him out of the way of the missile as it screamed past him. In mid-jump, he targeted the offending warrior, and sent a half-dozen slugs into the man. The barrage tore the smaller male Quaten apart. The Guardian tracked him, plasma fire filling the air as he slammed down into the ground. The air around him auto-ignited from the intensity of the plasma fire, and his temperature gauges spiked upwards of six thousand degrees as the plasma washed over him, draining his shields by a quarter. Lear raced around the room as his shields crackled and tried to recharge, stabilizers in his armor letting him fire on the go. Finally, he let his mind reach out a little; it was easier to read his adversaries now, with so few of them. He could see their surface thoughts; feel their actions before they did them. His radio picked up the sound of frustration among the remaining warriors as he began to weave about, the Tribunal forces finding that he was no longer where they were aiming.

He took out two more this way, before the last one gave a snarl of irritation and picked up one of the discarded rocket launchers. He saw the Quaten load a grav missile, and his organic eyes widened as he scrambled to get clear. The Guardian barked a belaying command, but it was too late. The missile shrieked in as Lear's helmet blared a lock-on warning to him. In desperation, he tried to teleport to the far side of the room, only for his not-yet-recharged pack to cut out halfway through. In a final frantic bid to better his odds, he began to try to raise what feeble psychic barriers he could, hoping it might be just enough to reinforce his recharging shields. The missile changed course and took the shortest path to its target and suddenly found its flight stopped by the pedestal the Alkathar artifact was resting on. It impacted, detonated, and the room began to flux and waver as space-time was distorted. As his shields and barriers failed, Lear felt his biological components scream in protest as his armor's internal dampners tried to compensate. Some of the reinforced blood vessels in his organic eyes ruptured, forcing him to rely on electronic sight as the field finally stopped. Feedback came in, bombarding his brain with information such as the status of his injuries and condition of his equipment; shielding system still functional, all servomotors in good condition, teleportation systems and other armor functions online, sensors good to go. He could still fight, and quickly leveled his gun, shooting the warrior before he could reload for a second shot.

That was as far as he got before more warnings came in. Sensor feedback alerted him that the distortions seemed to be returning, and he could faintly hear a garbled message from the fleet flagship, Vindicator, that they too seemed to be caught in some sort of rapidly forming spatial anomaly. His mechanical eyes focused on the artifact; he noticed that it had developed a slight crack along the topside surface and that it was starting to pulse more rapidly. Light started shooting out from the crack in it as it rose up off the pedestal that it was on and hummed loudly.

"Oh _frak_…" he muttered.

There was a pulling sensation, quickly becoming overwhelming as he was dragged towards the object, and the unsettling feeling that his body's atoms were being ripped away, broken down. For the first time in many, many years, Lear screamed. The cry seemed to go on for an eternity in his current state of perception, which now did nothing but allow him quite a bit of time to contemplate just how screwed he was. The grav plating on his boots failed, and he tumbled towards the artifact. He flailed about with his left hand, his six fingers trying to find something to grab hold of as he slammed into the corpse of one of the regular MSE soldiers. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the Guardian, her vibro-claws scraping along the floor as she was also pulled into the flux, a lupine howl of denial coming from her. Then everything went dark.

* * *

Well, that's it for the prologue. I do hope that the few bits I've put up were passable, or at least not a complete disaster. Any feedback is welcome, especially constructive criticism, as that's the only way that I'm going to improve. In the meantime, thank you, all of you, for your time, and I do hope you have a good day.


	3. Chapter One: In Which Fate Is Tempted

Errr, hello again, everyone. Sorry for the inordinate delay in getting things up and running again. For those of you unfamiliar, I have a rather hectic work schedule that makes it difficult for me to update regularly. Adding in problems with my computer dying and a still ongoing struggle to recover the data I had that was not backed up, and we reach our current predicament.

That being said, this is the first chapter-proper in this story, and I hope I've done a good job. Thanks once again goes to Swordsman289 for helping to proof this chapter. I owe him big time. And thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this story, I hope you find it worth your while.

* * *

**Chapter One: In Which Fate is tempted**

* * *

"They're doing what?" Ratchet arched an eyebrow as he stared at the holoscreen in front of him, his ears rising up. Had he heard correctly?

"They're shutting the project down," Angela muttered softly, pacing back and forth inside her prefab. "We're apparently not making enough credits for their liking, and since Barti can't think about anything except what color ink is being used to write the quarterly numbers, we're on the chopping block." She pivoted about, her teeth clenched as she started to grumble under her breath.

Ratchet's ears drooped a bit as he watched his friend clomp back and forth in front of him. "This close," he heard her muttering, holding her fingers a centimeter or two apart. "_This close_, another month, and we'd have it figured out…" She suddenly sighed, and turned, collapsing into a chair. The hovering drone that was providing the holofeed moved in closer. Her chest rose and fell evenly, but her eyes were closed, her fingers clenching once again.

"How many other projects are getting axed?" Ratchet asked, as he sat down in one of his own chairs, heedless of the fact that he was getting oil on the fabric.

"At least a dozen, Fizzwidget's been trying to pull Megacorp out of a tailspin for years, ever since Qwark …" she draped an arm across her face.

"I'm sorry, for what it's worth," her friend said softly. "Maybe… maybe you can find something in the time you've got left… or maybe you can get another opportunity, back in the biogenetics labs?" he tapped a finger against his chin as he spoke.

"You don't get it, Ratchet. I've been on the run from a crazed, midget dictator with delusions of grandeur and a thirst for revenge that might make Doctor Nefarious wonder what his problem was," she let her arm slip away, her blue eyes gazing up at the screen. "This was the first time in years that I've been back to work for them. Fizzwidget had to pull some strings, call in a lot of favors, to get me back in. This was my chance to prove that it was the right choice."

"Well… it's not like it was your fault that there was nothing in this… tomb… or whatever it was. And you helped keep the machines running smoothly, right?" the male Lombax smiled a bit as he spoke.

"That and other things. Apogee showed me a few tricks when I was with him." She said, a bit of pride slipping into her voice.

"Then how's it your fault? You did everything right, it just didn't pan out. Maybe the tomb's a decoy or it was abandoned before it was completed, who knows? It's not like you personally set out to make the project flop." His smiled widened a bit, and for a moment, Angela let a grin of her own creep across her face.

"You're getting better at the 'giving someone a hand while they're down' routine," She said, shifting a bit and staring up at the ceiling. "That's the truth, but you know how cutthroat multi-stellar corporate politics can get. Someone's going to try and use this failure against Fizzwidget…" she shook her head. "Nothing I can do but keep trying… it's almost personal at this point."

Ratchet's ears perked up a bit once more and his face became a study in confusion. "Not following you," he said.

"Ratchet, it took an Earth-Cracker half a standard _year_ to bore a half meter wide hole through that door!" Angela sat back up again, her eyes burning with a bit of an inner fire. "The material technology that implies… you could probably blast the whole planet into a molten slag-heap and that tomb… facility… whatever it was supposed to be would probably be fine. Structures like that aren't just left empty and abandoned." Her eyes narrowed and she bared her teeth again. "It's got a purpose… a reason for existing… I just have to figure out what it is."

Ratchet frown for a moment, suddenly realizing that the backs of his hands were sweating. "Tell you what… before you go back to Yeedil… you're going to have a stop-over, right?" _Oh, god, I hope I know what I'm doing here_ he thought to himself.

"Yeah, we're going to be traveling by a civilian convoy towards Ichar III, pirates and mercenary raiders are getting pretty bad lately." She gave him a look. "Why?"

"Why don't I meet you there? You'll have a couple of days off while they get everything organized and ready for the convoy. Take some time, hang out, just… do the sort of things friends do? You sound like you could use a break."

Angela chewed on her lip for a moment and frowned. She mentally weighed her options. It had been some time since she'd allowed herself to relax… and a while longer since she'd seen Ratchet in person. Years, in fact. Was this rushing back into things too quickly? Holo-communications and audio messages were one thing, but was she ready to meet him again in person? For that matter, was he? She ran her fingers through her hair, raking out more of the dull gray sand and dust from the wasteland outside. Blasted stuff, clung to everything. Over and over again, scenarios played out in her mind as the Lombax contemplated her options, trying to think of every way that this could possibly end. It took her a moment to realize that she still hadn't given Ratchet an answer.

"Sure… why not? What's the worst that could happen?" she said, leaning back in the chair. "Clank going to come along too?"

"If he wants to, sure," Ratchet said, his smiling widening a fraction.

"You're not going to be leaving some other obligation if you come over here, are you?"

"Not a chance," he waved a hand dismissively as he spoke. "There's nothing going on over here in Solona. Well, nothing that the Federation can't handle on its own."

"Odd… usually someone's trying to stir up trouble of some kind," she muttered.

"I know... you think maybe they're getting smarter?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Ratchet, if half the cutthroats, villains, and mad scientists in this neck of the universe were as smart as they proclaimed themselves to be, they'd stop trying to take over the galaxies, settle down, and realize they could make ungodly amounts of money simply selling their doomsday devices to interested parties." Angela's face broke out into a smirk, before she joined in with his laughter.

"True… but I think that would require them to think rationally. And I'm pretty sure when you accept the title of 'Super-Villain' that you're contractually required to toss that out the window and replace it with the need to monologue incessantly and come up with grandiose, over the top revenge schemes." Ratchet said as he wiped away a tear from his eye.

Angela merely nodded her head and looked around at the spartan furnishings of her apartment. "Yeah… I think… I think I will take some time off when this is over with and I get done running damage control. Might be best to let things blow over after that, try and find a nice, quiet area where I can turn out some stuff quickly, show them I've still got what it takes."

"Just let me know what I can do to help," he said with a smile. "In the meantime, you should probably get some sleep. You look like you could use it. What time is it over there?"

Angela groaned and stared over at a clock that was off screen. "About midnight, local time. Gah," she shook her head. "It's too easy to lose track of time over here."

"Get some rest, okay, I'll talk to you again soon." Ratchet said.

The two bid farewell, and the screen soon went dark. Ratchet leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers together. What to do, what to do? A tingling of nervousness he didn't fully understand swept over him for a moment, and he frowned. Why was he starting to get nervous again? Was it because he hadn't seen her in so long? Or was it something else? He growled as he ran his hand through his fur, cut short to keep it from getting in the way. He'd worry about nervousness later. He should probably try to find out if there were any movies or plays or things like that where Angela would be interested in seeing.

He moved over to his computer, typing in the relevant data and pulling up a display of Ichar III. N class planet, predominantly arid, with two large temperate bands around the polar areas. A connected network of massive hive cities represented most of the population concentrations, and only one major spaceport, linked to the planet's surface by a series of massive orbital elevators. Seemed a nice enough place, but he'd probably bring his weapons' storage deck unit. His ears lowered and he frowned again, for a moment, hating that "always be prepared" paranoia that years of fighting had instilled in him. Still, better to have and not need, he supposed. A quiet voice in the back of his head spoke up then. _If the only thing you wind up having to worry about is whether or not a couple of thugs want to try their luck, then consider yourself lucky. _ True enough, he supposed, remembering all the times when he'd tried to do something mundane and routine and it had abruptly snowballed into something that typically left half a galaxy crying out for someone to come save them.

He leaned back in the chair, listening to the soft creaking it made, thinking idly about what the future might bring to him.

* * *

As Ratchet and Angela had discussed, it was a relatively quiet time in the galaxies. Solona, Bogon, and Polaris were all in states of relative peace. Of course, there were always mega corporations that were out to take over and expand their powers and influences, legally and otherwise. Pirates and rogue mercenaries were often problems for lesser-defended worlds and one planet or another was always in the midst of some form of political instability. However, these issues were all relatively minor compared to the likes of a true crisis. Indeed, Solonians often joked that a conflict hadn't reached a crisis level until at least twenty five worlds had been bombarded from orbit.

In short, it was the type of situation where fate, the universe, or some other power might decide that things were far too boring and it was time to spice life up a bit.

If he'd been in a better mood, Doctor Nefarious might have felt inclined to give the galaxies a bit of that aforementioned "excitement". Instead, the robotic scientist simply sat hunched in a chair, tapping his clawed fingers together as he gazed up at a large holoscreen. There were two sets of images on the screen before him, but both depicted the same thing: his battle with Ratchet and Clank at the Great Clock. One depicted the fight from his own point of view, images captured by the cameras built into his eyes. The other was captured by the remote sensors of his station.

He watched the dual images; analyzing as the pictures progressed slowly, frame by frame. His burning crimson eyes narrowed as his fingers drifted down over the armrests of his chair, where they drummed out a steady, clinking beat. How many times was this, a subroutine distantly wondered. How many times, today alone, had he watched this play out? Ten? Twelve? He'd lost track some time ago, he realized, and growled softly.

"How…" he muttered quietly, his mechanized voice grating through the air. "How do they do it? I am their superior… I am stronger, faster, tougher, smarter… in every way I am better… yet still, I am continually delayed, beaten, and denied what is rightfully mine due to an over glorified house-pet and a tricked out _backpack!_"

He suddenly leaped up to his feet, slamming his booted heels down into the floor hard enough to leave a dented impression in the metal plates. He paced back and forth, his form quivering, twitching, a hissing noise escaping between his skull-like "lips." Even though he'd long ago left his flawed biological body behind, he still couldn't shake the instincts that he'd been born with, and found himself "breathing" heavily as he continued to glare up at the screen. He found himself desperately wishing that he had a henchman in front of him, if only so that it could serve as a convenient moving target. He clasped his hands behind his back, shifting about, to and fro as he paced his way back and forth in front of the screen, wincing momentarily as he got a dual-perspective look at a RYNO rocket slamming into his face and catapulting him into his station. Was it a mere habit of underestimating the diminutive robot and his squishy partner that had gotten him into this? Was it something more complicated?

How many times, how many times had he had that insufferable duo dead to rights only for them to either turn out to not have been as dead as he thought they were or for Ratchet to pull out yet another weapon in his seemingly never-ending arsenal and unleash the damnable thing on him. He watched as the Lombax jetted about, evading a series of pulse laser shots and plasma blasts that the Doctor had fired at him.

Did his body need yet another upgrade? He glanced down at his newly reinforced endo and exoskeletons, the bulges on his arm from where he'd had a couple more weapon systems thrown in after his latest humiliation. Was it simply a matter of being able to outlast the fool and his companions? Of being able to bury them in firepower?

A second subroutine discounted that notion almost as soon as it had come up. If it had been that simple, the annihilator laser that he'd had Lawrence use in the showdown at the station would have been enough. There was something he was missing, some crucial element that he just hadn't thought of yet; something that maybe this viewing of the recording would yield to him.

"Excuse me, Sir," came a calm, accented voice.

Nefarious let out a surprised screech and jumped eight meters into the air. He landed with a yelp and a colossal "bong" of metal striking metal, before shaking his head and glaring at the source of the intrusion. There was a translucent image of a robotic butler standing before him, hands clasped behind his back.

"Lawrence," Nefarious' voice was quiet and his eyes seemed to glow brighter as he stood up, clawed hands outstretched. "I have told you many times to never to interrupt me when I am sulking… you have precisely five nanoseconds to give me one good reason not to—"

"My apologies for interrupting your revenge plotting, Sir, but I thought you might want to know that a number of our remote sensors are detecting abnormal readings." If Lawrence was at all bothered by the fact that his boss was about to threaten him with some form of dismemberment, he did not allow it to show.

"What do you mean, 'abnormal readings'?" Nefarious leaned in closer. "If those idiot maintenance drones have managed to screw up the sensor network I'll..." he started to pant a little harder, his body quivering once again.

"No, Sir, nothing like that," Lawrence said quietly. "Rather, they began detecting a series of sub-spatial rifts and tears appearing in random sections of the Bogon and Polaris Galactic regions. I thought it best that you were informed now, rather than when you were done with the remainder of your scheduled sulking time."

"How long ago?" Nefarious' eyes dimmed a bit, his hands returning to his side.

"Approximately five minutes, Sir." Lawrence turned and looked back over his shoulder at something. "We're still detecting new ones as I speak."

"Diagnostics?"

"Inconclusive at the moment, Sir. They appear similar in nature to mass teleportation tears, but it doesn't match any known frequency or pattern… and we're not aware of any galactic government that would have a rhyme or reason to suddenly do this… to say nothing of the sheer number of them." Lawrence tapped a finger against his rather large mouth, "I must admit, it is rather baffling."

"Are they natural or not?" The Doctor crossed his arms over his chest, the proverbial and literal gears in his brain beginning to turn.

"Also inconclusive. The sheer randomness of the rifts is making it difficult to determine the answer to that question. Some are appearing in unstable regions, some in perfectly normal ones, and more than a few are actually appearing on or… inside of… planets." He shifted back over to look at something once again. "Current count is well over five hundred of these anomalies, and it's still climbing. Pollyx and his compatriots have been informed and are currently analyzing the data as I speak."

"Then what are you waiting for, you idiot?" Nefarious clamped his hands together as he spoke, before hopping up and down and gesturing wildly. "Dispatch scouting drones to figure out what they are, and more importantly, how we can use them!"

"Yes, Sir, right away, sir." Lawrence said with a bow, before glancing up at the still slowly playing images of the battle on the holoscreen. "Shall I leave you to your… activities?"

"Yes, yes," Nefarious waived him off as he turned back towards the holoscreen. "I shall be engaged in… strategic planning for some time, I suspect." He didn't see his second in command shake his head and roll his electronic eyes.

"Very good sir, happy planning…"

Nefarious rubbed a claw along the underside of his chin as he contemplated his next course of action. He picked up a remote and paused the recording a split second before he took another shot to the face. Grimacing and snarling he glared hatefully at the duo that had thwarted him. The organic and that robotic traitor would suffer, and suffer greatly, for all the setbacks and humiliations that they had given him. He would find the flaw, find the trick, remove it from the equation and then crush them like the bugs they were. He raised his left hand up, cupping it around Ratchet's head in the projection, imagining that he held it for an actual moment. He slowly squeezed his talons shut, his circuitry and mental vision filled with the images and thoughts of killing his nemesis in any one of a hundred agonizing ways.

Perhaps he could find a weakness in them… or perhaps these new discoveries could help him. Spatial rifts, oddly enough, did seem to have a tendency to spit out tools by which one could bring about change. Either in the form of energy that could be harnessed, or lost alien technologies, or the like. Nefarious paused in his scheming, cocking his head to the side and frowning. Rather funny that. Perhaps they'd get lucky this time, and it would turn out to be the case.

The robotic Doctor started to pace back and forth once again. He had to admit, it was rather bizarre. Sufficiently powerful energy sources were known to be able to rip open holes in the fabric of reality. Dimensionators and the Great Clock itself had been capable of doing that. This probably wasn't the same, though. Lawrence would have mentioned that if it had been the case. Nefarious kicked the base of his chair and frowned once again. What could it mean? The appearance of so many rifts so quickly? He shifted about, walking back over to the far side of the room. They'd have to move quickly. No doubt, there would be a hundred other powers in the galaxies that would have noticed these readings as well, and he had to be the first one to capitalize on it. If these rifts really did happen to spit out something that he could harness and use to fuel his plans…

A maniacal grin appeared on his skeletal face, and his eyes started to burn once again. Oh, the possibilities.

He shifted back towards his chair abruptly. Too soon, too soon for that, a small voice in his head reminded him. It could lead to nothing, and assuming it might have been caused by some sort of xenotech was overly optimistic, when for all he knew it could have been caused by "Captain" Copernicus L. Qwark's ego simply growing so large that it had altered the gravitational center of the known universe. On the other hand, still best to get there first. Even if it turned out to be nothing, he could still their presence to ambush any late arrivals. He chuckled slightly at the thought of blasting a Polarian cruiser to pieces. Hell, even a civilian bulk freighter would be nice and cathartic. Maybe play a nice bit of upbeat music to go along with the horrified screams and futile pleading for mercy… Yes, that would be just the thing. Something to take his mind off his recent defeats, a little bit of a confidence building exercise. That would be just perfect, he thought, as he rubbed his hands together gleefully.

* * *

Angela Cross found herself sighing once again as she turned over, stuck in the strange, gray area where she wasn't truly asleep, but wasn't truly awake either. It had to be probably two o'clock in the morning, local time. At least, that was what she was guessing. Her bedroom area lacked windows… not that there would have been much to stare at even if she'd had them. Sand. Dust. More sand. Another dust covered prefab. That would have pretty much covered the spectrum. She snuggled into the soft bedding underneath her, the one luxury they were given out here, and tried to will herself to fall asleep. She was going to need every bit of rest she could get if they were only going to have two days left to finish here.

However, sleep continued to elude the young woman. Insomnia brought on by a combination of frustration at the earlier lack of progress with the dig, the lack of support now that they _finally _seemed to be getting somewhere, and the fact that she swore this place was taunting her. She groaned and flopped over onto her back, her weary eyes opening up at the ceiling above her. She could just faintly make it out in the darkness, her large eyes taking in every scrap of stray illumination that it could find. Was this really the way that it was going to be? For her to have escaped Tachyon's attempts to kill her, have successfully stayed in hiding for all this time, and managed to both outlast him and every other threat she'd gone up against… only to fail now? Now that she had at last gotten some semblance of her old life back?

She let out another low sigh and blinked a few times as she placed her hands behind her head. She'd find something… some way to turn this around. There had to be an answer to the secret of this place, something she just hadn't thought of yet. She'd get up "tomorrow", get Mr. Arden to let her pilot one of the sensor drones, and take a detailed sector by sector sweep of the interior of that… facility… tomb… whatever it was. Perhaps a few deep spectrum active scans might do the trick? Reveal if there were any hidden panels or false walls over hidden chambers? Maybe even show some hidden circuits?

Her thoughts drifted again, as she forcefully cut off that train of thought. _You go down that path, you won't ever get to sleep _she thought inwardly. Instead, she tried to focus on something mildly less frustrating: Ratchet and Clank. It felt… it felt good… to be speaking with them again after all this time. Getting back in touch with them and stoking the embers of their friendship had proven to be easier than she'd feared it was going to be. But then again, the two had first been introduced with him being Qwark's pawn to con his way back into the superhero business without regard to the cost, and she'd tried to shoot him for it. Granted, he'd been blissfully ignorant of his actual role in things and had been quick to forgive the misunderstanding once the truth had come out.

She supposed that was his nature. A little brash and short tempered from time to time, but more than willing to let bygones be bygones… unless you threatened his homeworld or another friend of his. A faint smile teased at the edges of her mouth as she thought about seeing him in person for the first time in years. Silver lining and all? Angela giggled for a moment. He was certainly quite a bit taller than he used to be, if the vids were any indication; though he still wasn't as tall as she was. Distantly, she wondered if female Lombaxes were always larger than the males. Information on their species was surprisingly scant. She mentally shrugged. Didn't really matter in the end, she supposed.

It would be good to see Clank as well. The little robot had always been kind to her, despite a similar misunderstanding at the start of the protopet disaster. She'd gotten lucky with those two. Friends like that weren't common.

She closed her eyes once more, and let her mind start to drift, images of the three of them simply hanging out. No jobs, no super villains or galactic disasters… maybe getting Ratchet to blast the next smug grin off Randolph Barti's face… she couldn't help but giggle a bit at that thought. She closed her eyes, and finally felt sleep come to her.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep when her sensitive hearing picked up the sound of someone banging on the door to her prefab. She groaned and shifted on her bed, hoping whoever it was would go away. The banging returned a moment later, and she grumbled as she slowly got to her feet and made her way out of her sleeping quarters and into the main room of the structure. She picked up the remote to her holoscreen and keyed it to the camera on the outside of the airlock. There was a person standing there, anonymous behind the mirrored visor of the filtration mask that he or she was wearing. Medium height and build, no indication as to who it was as they raised a three fingered hand and banged on the door a couple more times.

"What is it?" she mumbled, and the person jumped back a bit.

"Oh, sorry, Angela," the person said. She recognized the voice: Sartanus Arden. "I know it's an ungodly hour, and all that, and I'm sorry about it, but you need to get out here now!"

"What is it?" she asked, trying to force her body to wake up, rummaging around for a stimulant pill. She grimaced at the thought of having to swallow one of the things, but damned if they didn't work. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, per se…" Arden reached up and scratched the back of his helmet. "It's the doors, Angela."

"What about them?" She rummaged under the counter, and pulled out a small, standard issue bottle of Megacorp brand mental stimulants.

"They're opening up."

Angela quickly forgot about the pills and her fatigue as she raced to get out of her sleeping attire and into her work clothes.

* * *

And that's it for chapter one. Hopefully the next update won't take several months, and I do hope that it was a decent update. Any advice and feedback, as always, is more than welcomed, especially regarding characterization and the like, as I'm always nervous that in my attempts to develop and advance the characterization in these stories, I'm going to wind up morphing the individual into something their note. Nefarious is a particular cause for concern, so any advice and feedback on how I'm portraying him is definitely going to be welcomed with open arms.

In the meanwhile, I hope that everyone has a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. Take care, and be safe.


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